


these are very minute differences

by kyoufushi81



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Artist!Hinata, Fluff, Kagehina Exchange, Kagehina Exchange 2015, M/M, Writer!Kageyama, kags and hinata are my smol gays and i love them very much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:52:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyoufushi81/pseuds/kyoufushi81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama just wants to enjoy his morning coffee and maybe get some work done. Alone. </p><p>He's about to be sorely disappointed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	these are very minute differences

**Author's Note:**

> This is a monster of a fic I wrote for Kagehina Exchange 2015! Ugh, the process was so difficult: I had three months to finish it, but here I am, finishing it literally ten minutes before the deadline. But to be fair, I did have an idea going at the beginning- but I found out that something similar had already been published. So I was forced to restart. But that's another story. 
> 
> Anyways, this is for number 101! Sorry- you asked for fluff, but I gave you angst with a little fluff. But I hope you enjoy!

By Kageyama’s standards – low as he doesn’t care to admit – the day _had_ been going well. Emphasis on the ‘had’.

He’d woken up decently early without a headache from his terrible sleeping habits, hadn’t cut himself shaving, and had managed to snag a seat to himself in the morning rush of one of the two cafés he frequents. He’d even managed to get some work done, despite the traffic and noise.

But, of course, that had all gone completely downhill when he’d returned to see some kid sitting across from his seats, headphones in and all.

So this is his dilemma now: he can either shoot him, with his artificial-looking orange hair, a death glare then move somewhere else, or he can start a confrontation and potentially risk getting kicked out.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing in my seat?”

Option two it is, then.

The kid looks up at him and jumps up in surprise, and, lifting his headphones off, says, “Oh! Hi. My name’s Hinata Shouyou. I hope you don’t mind me sharing- I promise I won’t take up that much space, but you know how tough this morning crowd-”

“Get out.” Scratch that part about not having a headache. Kageyama almost wishes for the sleep-induced throbbing if only to avoid the massive paroxysm of pain that’s going to come now.

“Hey, dude. Have some sympathy, will you? I mean, I’ve got-”

“I said: get out.”

“The fuck is your problem, man? I promised I wouldn’t take up that much space, and I asked nicely too!”

People are beginning to stare; under normal circumstances, Kageyama would try to avoid people noticing him, but this kid is really starting to get on his nerves. “I don’t give two shits about what you said! This is my seat, so you can get out!”

“No! It’s not your seat, and I can sit wherever the fuck I like. If it _bothers_ you so much, get out!”

Kageyama opens his mouth to shoot back a reply, but is stopped by a strong hand on his shoulder. A barista, towering over him, motions to the both of them.

“I’m going to have to ask you both to leave for causing a disturbance.”

“Seriously?” Hinata squeaks. “It’s this motherfucker’s fault for being a stingy asshat!” But the barista doesn’t respond, keeping his steely gaze fixed on the both of them as they storm towards the door in tandem, fighting for who gets to go through first.

Outside, a pregnant pause elapses before Hinata looks away and mumbles, “This is all your fault.”

“My fault? _You’re_ the one with a voice louder than a fucking jet plane!”

But Hinata is already crossing the street, head turned defiantly away from Kageyama; silently and at the very back of his mind, Kageyama wonders where he’s going. There’s only one place for _him_ to go besides home, and he really needs some coffee if he’s going to get anything done today. So he heads, unfortunately, in the same direction.

And it just so happens to be that that very same boy is lined up already when he gets to the only other decent café in town.

Just his luck.

Thankfully, though, the store is relatively quiet, which gives him lots of seats to choose from. Kageyama makes a big show of heading in the opposite direction as the counter as Hinata steps up to the front and immediately begins making animated conversation with the barista, who Kageyama has seen before, but can’t remember the name of; he nods along and smiles pleasantly, genuinely. Then he looks Kageyama’s way, and the latter freezes up. Hinata’s head swings around next, and he gapes for a moment before looking back. Setting his bags down, Kageyama waits until the line is one-hundred percent redhead-free before going to order.

“Do you know that shrimp?” he asks the barista – Sugawara, his nametag says. “What a fucking asshat.”

“Hmm? You mean Hinata? Well, he comes in here sometimes. He’s an artist, I think.”

“Artist, my ass. I bet he can’t draw shit.” And Kageyama storms off, his mood suddenly ten times worse.

“But- you haven’t ordered,” Sugawara calls after him, even though it doesn’t matter much anymore. No amount of coffee is going to make him feel any better today.

Kageyama has barely just plugged his laptop in and gotten his headphones on when his screen disappears and an ugly Christmas sweater – even though it’s only November – appears in its place.

“The _fuck_ ,” he begins, looking not that far up to see orange hair and hazel eyes.

“You’re a writer?”

Reopening his laptop, Kageyama flips Hinata the bird.

“I _said_ : You’re a writer?” He stumbles back at Kageyama’s middle finger in the soft part of his stomach, and, scowling, sneers, “Well, no wonder! I guess it’s true when they say all writers are antisocial pricks, then.”

“Wha’dja say, punk?” Kageyama’s laptop screen closes again with a _snap_.

“I _said_ ,” Hinata begins, voice rising so that other people begin to stare.

He doesn’t get to continue, though. Sugawara, rushing up to his table, cuts him off with a hasty “Now, now, guys. I wouldn’t want to have to have you guys leave, so can we calm it down a bit? Please?”

Like bulldogs, they back off snarling, if only because neither have anywhere else to go; Suga, to ward off the awkward pause, tries to make conversation. “…hey, isn’t Hinata an artist? You two could share your work. Y’know, collaborate or something.”

“No way. I’ll bet that dickhead is a shit artist.”

“Like you’d be able to write anything halfway decent.”

Suga sighs. “Just- please don’t make any commotion, okay?”

Hinata storms off to his side of the café, and Suga returns behind the counter, wiping his brow.

#

Kageyama ends up leaving after two hours of frustrated sighing and slumping in front of his keyboard, leaving Hinata with nothing to distract him from his blank sketchbook page. A disparaging half-hour passes, and he too leaves, haphazardly shoving his things into his ratty backpack.

It’s getting dark when he makes his way back to his apartment building, wearing his bag on his stomach so no one takes anything. The walk back home always seems to take forever- although it’s not like he’s exactly desperate to get home. It isn’t the most ideal living situation.

He makes it to his door, though, and is groping his pockets for the key when his bag – which must have been slipping open this entire time – completely unzips, spilling his sketchbook and pencil cases on to the ground.

“Shit!” As he fumbles to collect his things with one hand, gripping his gaping backpack precariously in the other, one of the doors at the end of the hallway slams open.

“What the- oh my god.”

Hinata’s head snaps up and he braces himself to run inside and slam the door. Living with the other people in this apartment, he’s learnt, requires quiet steps and fast reflexes. But the person sticking their head angrily out the door isn’t a cranky, forty year-old NEET.

It’s Kageyama.

They stare at each other blankly for a second before Hinata is scrambling back, tripping on his own bag and nearly falling on his ass. “What,” he cries, wincing as someone from the third floor stomps down in retaliation, “are you doing here?”

“Because, as any intelligent person would be able to see, I live here. The fuck are _you_ doing here?”

“-because I…live here?”

Kageyama lets out the most inhuman groan, muttering something like _why the fuck is it always him_ before slamming his door shut. Hinata follows suit, hurrying so as not to fall victim to the rage of the other tenants. He’s already had enough for one day.

#

The next day, it’s Kageyama who arrives at the café first, to his satisfaction. Hinata stumbles in groggily only ten minutes later, though, and glares at him while ordering.

It’s the morning rush, and Hinata has nowhere to sit, as he points out to Suga; the latter replies with a “Well, Kageyama’s sitting alone.”

“Hell no! I’d rather draw and drink my coffee standing up than sit with that fucking jerkwad,” Hinata protests, although he shoots the chair across from Kageyama a longing glance. Another pointed look is all it takes for him to heave out a sigh. “Fine, but if this blows up, it’s your fault.”

Kageyama’s eyes narrow as Hinata sits down across from him, pulling his laptop towards him protectively.

“You’re taking over more than half of the table,” he snaps after a minute of uncomfortably cramped typing. “Move your shit over.” At the counter, Suga sends them a warning look; Hinata complies. They sit in silence, with only the sound of pencil scratching paper. Kageyama quits typing somewhere, instead peeking over his computer screen to watch the other draw. It’s sort of interesting, he admits, how two lines can turn into a face. And Hinata is – although this, he’ll never admit – maybe good at it?  

“What’re you drawing.”

Hinata looks up.

“I said: what’re you drawing.”

A sharp inhale, as if Hinata were hesitating. “Um, just people around the room?”

“Let me see.”

“Don’t bend the pages,” Hinata warns, handing his sketchbook over.

“You think I’m that careless? Dumbass.” Kageyama looks down.

And _shit_ , Hinata is good. Like, really good. _Crazy_ good.

“Are you done with that?”

Kageyama doesn’t hand the sketchbook over, instead flipping through the pages in wonder. Across from him comes an annoyed grunt, although Hinata doesn’t make a move.

“Could you, uh. Could you draw something,” he mumbles, handing the sketchbook over.

“Wha’dja say?”

“ _Draw something_.” Kageyama winces at the unintended harshness in his voice.

“…sure, I guess. What? Or who.”

“He-He’s a young king, I guess. Vain, mostly. But underneath all his theatrics lies a desire to push himself beyond his limits. He’s got no sense of self-preservation, however childish and selfish he might seem. And he’s cunning, although he really does care about the well-being of his subjects. But he’s good at hiding it.”

For a moment, there is nothing but silence, and Kageyama begins to worry that maybe he should have said something else, or that Hinata is actually just doing this to make fun of him. Then: “Do you have a name for him?”

Kageyama breathes an internal sigh of relief, although he can’t fathom why- it’s almost as if he was afraid. “Oikawa,” he says. “Oikawa Tooru.”

The grin on Hinata’s face is blinding as he scribbles something down on the page and turns it around to show Kageyama.

“Like it? I mean, I don’t know if he’s actually brunet or not, but he feels like that to me, you know? The way you described him made him feel like that.”

The corners of Kageyama’s mouth threaten to break into the same ear-splitting grin as the one across from him; he settles for a tiny smirk instead, but Hinata gets the message.

#

“They’ve been coming around a lot, Suga-san,” Ennoshita says as he gets ready for his shift.

“I’ve been listening to their conversations, actually. They were at each other’s throats when they first came in – still are, if you think about it – but they’re actually working together on something. A comic, I think? You should listen. It’s sort of funny.”

At their usual table sits the aforementioned duo, bickering about something Ennoshita can’t make out. But it gets sorted out, and they go quiet again, Kageyama muttering dialogue and plot points from the manuscript he has in hand to a furiously scribbling Hinata.

“Done! That’s, like, the first chapter, right? So we can take a break.”

“You realize we’re going to have to have a faster working period than _three weeks_ for a single chapter if you want to even get a chance at being published.”

“I told you I had to take a look at all the characters and settings first! I can’t draw freehand, no matter how good you seem to think I am. And I don’t just carry manuscripts with me, thanks. But it’s flattering. Thanks.” Hinata flashes Kageyama a shit-eating grin.

“Dumbass. And those are just the sketches.”

“I know! But I don’t have enough money to buy those fancy pens and brushes and stuff. It’s always just been me, my sketchbook and my crappy phone camera.”

“Then move in with me.”

Hinata gapes at Kageyama, prompting a nervous gulp and a practiced, albeit red-faced, scowl.

“I mean, like. So you can save up for supplies. And shit like that. It’s half of the, um, rent for each of us. So we can both have extra spending money.”

“That’s,” Hinata starts, “actually a really good idea! You _can_ be smart sometimes, Kageyama. I’m proud of you.”

Kageyama’s eyes go wide, and if the blush creeping onto his cheeks wasn’t obvious before, it definitely is now.

#

“I like it,” Kageyama says, looking over their third – or forth – draft of the first chapter, which they’ve been working on obsessively for the past three weeks. Hinata stares critically at it, scrutinizing- well, everything, pretty much. He’s more detailed than he lets on, Kageyama has come to learn.

“I don’t know. I still feel like the line-art is sort of shaky. And the shading. But if you think it’s okay, then I guess it must be ready!”

“You shouldn’t trust me so much, Hinata,” retorts Kageyama, although he manages a half-grin.

#

Hinata takes one look at the security guard at the front desk of the publishing building and nearly runs out.

“What are you doing, dumbass?” Kageyama hisses at him, hand holding Hinata’s arm in a vice grip to keep him from running.

“I can’t do it,” comes the reply, and Kageyama notices now the pallor of Hinata’s skin and the wobble of his legs. “They’re so scary! They’re going to think I’m just some kid and reject me. Hell, I _am_ just some kid!”

Kageyama’s grip softens, and he looks directly at Hinata, who gulps.

“As long as I’m here,” he says, “you’re going to be invincible.”

The quavering doesn’t stop, but Hinata nods and follows him back mutely, eyes downcast even as the editor they meet with takes their manuscript with a smile. When they get outside, he lets out a gust of breath and smiles nervously up at Kageyama.

“He liked it!”

“That doesn’t mean we’ll get published, necessarily. But we got past the first obstacle. So I guess you can feel a little proud of yourself.”

Hinata pauses beside him, and Kageyama turns to see him with both hands raised expectantly. “Hi-five, Kageyama!”

“What?”

One hand shoots out to pull his towards it. “You’re so dumb! Haven’t you ever hi-fived someone before? Just hit my hand.”

Kageyama slaps him with too much force, and Hinata’s cry is loud enough for the whole street to turn their heads.

#

The editor accepts the comic with surprising ease and very few edits, praising them on both the storyline and art style, and asks for a finished draft of the first chapter in two weeks with a cover page design. There isn’t much work to do, but it has Hinata shaking with nervousness as he sketches the same pose over and over again, fawning over every detail.

It doesn’t blow up immediately, which sorely disappoints the both of them, but over the next few months, Hinata sees all sorts of posts on his social media praising the comic; their output increases too, as they learn each other’s habits and quirks. It gets to the point where they’ll show up at opening time at the café and only leave when Suga sends them home, each with a free drink for the all-nighter they’ll surely be pulling.

#

They’re six months in when Kageyama gets sick.

“I’m not sick. I can wo-” Kageyama’s protests are interrupted by another fit of coughing, which only worsens as he tries to sit up.

“Seriously? You can barely keep yourself awake right now, much less dictate the story to me. Just go to sleep; I’ll take the manuscript to the café and work on it there.”

“ _No_! Don’t touch my manuscript, alright? I’ll just take a quick nap and be fine….in no-”

Kageyama’s head hits the pillow with a _fwump_ , and he’s out like a rock.

#

It doesn’t take much searching to find the manuscript, tucked away haphazardly in Kageyama’s backpack. Hinata pulls it out, trying not to let the paper crinkle and wake his roommate up, and quickly steals away with his own bag.

“Hinata,” Suga says with a smile as the door jingles shut. “Where’s Kageyama?”

“Sick. Um- mind keeping a secret, Suga-san?”

He is met with a suspicious glance as Suga busies himself making his usual drink. “That depends. Is it important?”

“…sort of? I mean, Kageyama makes it seem really serious, but I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it.”

“What did you do.”

“I took his manuscript when he was asleep so I could work on the comic? Even though he told me not to.”

“Well, there must be a reason that he doesn’t want you looking at it. But…” Suga hands him his drink and moves to the register. “…I think that it’s good that you don’t want him to strain himself. He does have that tendency, you know.”

“Thanks, Suga!” And Hinata is bouncing away to his usual seat, where he’ll most likely stay for the next few hours.

#

“I’m home!” And he got the sketches done, after four hours of squinting through layers of scratchy red pen. But before Hinata can step beyond their small entryway, Kageyama has all but materialized onto him, grabbing his shoulders while struggling for breath.

“Where _is_ it.”

“What? Where’s what? Did you lose…?” Hinata stops when he looks up to see the manic look in his partner’s eyes, framed by hair stuck to his face by sweat.

“My manuscript! You took it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, because you were sleeping and I wanted-!”

“ _I told you not to take my manuscript_.”

“And _I_ told you that I can function fine on my own! I don’t need your shitty dictations just to do some fucking sketches,” Hinata all but shouts. He hears pounding on the walls from the neighbors, telling them to shut up.

“Give them back now!”

“So you don’t think I can contribute to _our_ manga without you- without you manipulating everything I do? You think I’m that useless?”

“No – I mean – no! It’s complicated! Just give them back!”

“Maybe I won’t.”

And Kageyama is on him, tearing and ripping at who-knows-what. Hinata falls to the ground, using his hands to shield his bag, but Kageyama reaches around and flips him over so he can open it. Groping indiscriminately at the contents inside, he somehow manages to pull the stack of paper out without ripping it, and clutches it possessively to his chest.

Turning himself back around, Hinata whips his head up with a snarl to meet Kageyama’s gaze; but even in the midst of his fury, he can’t help but notice the way Kageyama’s hands tremble and his chest hollows defensively, and the way his eyes are not just angry, but wet too.

Hinata can’t stop his own tears as he races out.

#

At the café, it’s not Suga at the counter like Hinata might’ve liked, but his mouth is off like a rocket anyways, near-yelling a violent recount of what has just happened.

“Wait! Hinata, was it? Slow down,” says Ennoshita, the barista who usually takes over after Suga’s shift ends. “Do you want something to calm yourself down? Some, like, tea or something?”

“Do I have to? I, uh, forgot cash.”

Ennoshita sighs. “It’s fine, then.” _What would Suga-san do?_ “Um, it’s a quiet afternoon. Do you want to talk about it?”

“He-he thinks I’m useless or something! Can you believe it? He won’t even let me see his goddamn manuscript.”

“I’m sure he has a reason, Hinata.”

“Reason for what? It’s his writing either way- I’m not going to destroy it.” Hinata gesticulates wildly as he speaks, nearly knocking over a rack of mints and packaged pastries.

“…you know, I think Suga-san did mention something once. Like how in his youth he had this great thing going, I think? He won a ton of writing competitions, and got signed to a publisher when he was fourteen. But they dropped him as soon as he hit eighteen for some reason, and he hasn’t gotten published at all since then.”

As he turns around to replace some items in the display case, Ennoshita sees Hinata facing the door, shaking.

“Hinata? Are you okay?”

He is met with a teary-eyed sniffle as Hinata turns around and says, “That idiot wouldn’t even trust me with something like this?”

And he’s out the door.

#

Kageyama is nowhere to be seen when Hinata bursts through the door, completely ignoring the angered shouting of their neighbors. He sits in the corner of their room, staring blankly down at the floor, torn-up manuscript lying next to him; Hinata skids to a stop at the sight of him in such a state.

A pause. Then: “Kageyama.”

“You saw it.”

“I’m sorry, Kageyama. I should have- I should have asked you. But you didn’t tell me! You still don’t trust me, even though we’ve been through so goddamn much!”

“I couldn’t tell you.” Kageyama sniffles, and his voice is thick when he mutters, “But there’s no point now, I guess. You know what happened already.”

“Ennoshita-san told me. Are you scared, Kageyama?” Hinata reaches forward, causing Kageyama to shudder and recede into the corner. “You’re still the best writer in the world to me. I don’t give two shits about whatever that dumbass publisher said!” Taking Kageyama’s hand in his, he says, “We’re a team, Kageyama. You’re my best friend. And I really like you.”

He squeezes his hand. Kageyama squeezes back.

#

The hand-holding becomes a thing after that, sort of. Hinata will smile up at Kageyama, whose scowls don’t hold much meaning anymore, and take his hand. And although both of them flush and start sweating profusely, neither one lets go.

At the same time, their comic’s popularity begins skyrocketing, and suddenly one of them will be buying groceries when some teenager runs up and asks for an autograph. Fan-mail starts pouring in, and Hinata’s email becomes cluttered- he still spends time every day reading each one of them.

Kageyama comes tearing down the hall of their new, larger apartment – purchased with the money that they’ve earned – one day at the sound of something hitting the floor and finds a mute Hinata sitting on the floor, one hand over his mouth.

“How the _fuck_ did you fall?”

One hand points to the computer screen on the kitchen counter, and Kageyama strides over to look suspiciously at it while Hinata rights himself.

He nearly falls on his ass himself.

#

“I’m- I’m scared, Kageyama.”

“Dumbass,” Kageyama half-hisses, half-whispers, “I am too.”

“Where do we even go in? I’ve never been to a convention, and much less to be a _guest speaker_!”

“Neither have I.”

“Hold my hand, Kageyama.”

“Gross! It’s all sweaty.” He complies anyways.

An attendant finds them in the crowd, easily identifying the small, excitable redhead and his surly companion, and leads them backstage to prepare to speak. All they have to do is talk a little about how their comic came to be, he says, and answer a few questions. It’s simple.

Hinata’s voice cracks out of terror on the first question, and his hand clenches Kageyama’s under the table. “Um,” he says, “how did we meet? It was really awkward. But we both hated each other at first.”

“Still do,” Kageyama mutters, sending the audience into a fit of giggles.

A few questions later and they’ve gotten the hang of things, until one audience member asks: “What exactly is the nature of your relationship? ‘cause we’ve all seen pictures of, y’know. You two holding hands.”

Kageyama’s face, albeit red, remains stony, and he turns to look at Hinata, their hands still linked firmly. Slowly, he lifts his arm, prompting a gasp from the audience, and looks at Hinata, licking his lips.

And the grin he gets is blinding.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://kyoufushi81.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
